


Hers

by InkyBlot



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 09:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12478620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkyBlot/pseuds/InkyBlot
Summary: After a short while, her husband made the tiniest of groans deep in his throat and Laoghaire's eyes shot open. She knew that sound. Sleep fleeting like winter mist, and stomach growing cold with realisation, she waited, staring into the blackness above their bed.Contains spoilers for Book 3 Voyager.





	Hers

Inspired by this quote:

 _“Laoghaire was white to the lips, her face set like stone. Even her eyes had no life; they were blank and dull as marbles. “I could feel her hand on him,” she whispered. “In our bed. Lying there between us, wi’ her hand on him, so he would stiffen and cry out to her in his sleep. She was a witch. I always knew.”_  
  
Excerpt From, Drums of Autumn, Chapter 34

____________  
  
  
A quiet breath in the dark roused her. After a short while, her husband made the tiniest of groans deep in his throat and Laoghaire's eyes shot open. She knew that sound. Sleep fleeting like winter mist, and stomach growing cold with realisation, she waited, staring into the blackness above their bed.  
  
Jamie's leg shifted slightly with a rustle of bedclothes and he took a deep breath in, dreaming. She could feel his warmth from across the mattress, but there was ice there as well. His breath hitched and faltered and then he let out a half choked sob that made Laoghaire's own breath catch in her throat. She knew those sounds were private sounds and hearing them made her feel guilty and mightily alone. She let out a shaky breath and with the inexorable feeling of a prisoner facing their fate, turned her eyes towards him.  
  
He lay next to her on his side, a modest distance between them. His beloved face was shrouded in shadows and Laoghaire was glad. She didn't want to see the expression on it. Letting her eyes drift down, she saw his beautiful large hand twitch on the coverlet and ached to caress it, to stab it, to hurt him. For so long she had yearned for those strong hands to touch her, and now he was finally hers, and yet his hands still belonged to _that woman_.  
  
Glaring at the bonny long fingers, ghostly in the dark, and pursing her lips, she silently voiced a prayer.  
  
_Lord God in heaven, I beg ye to release my husband from this bewitchment. Take away the curse of the white witch, the fairy who stole him from me all those years ago._  
  
Next to her, Jamie suddenly groaned. His hand closed softly around the white of their bedsheets and he whispered quietly with a yearning that sent a dagger through her heart.  
  
"C-Claire"  
  
__________________________  
  
  
Jenny Murray's inviting her to Lallybroch had been unexpected, but she had gone willingly, knowing from clan gossip that Jamie had been returned from England these several months.  
  
She had expected him to be changed after so many years, but nothing prepared her for the sight of him. He was still tall, of course, but leaner. Still holding himself with that innate honour of a laird, but walking with a slight limp. Laoghaire watched him all evening from beneath her lashes and saw that although he tried to keep it hidden, the bleakness started in his eyes and spread across his whole face, making him look gaunt and worn. He looked like a man who had had his soul ripped out.  
  
Later, after Jenny had talked persuasively enough to formulate a convenient arrangement between her and Jamie, after they had married in the chapel, after he had quietly set himself to his duties as a step-father and provider, Laoghaire realised what it was.  
  
It was _Her_ she saw in his eyes. That _witch_.  
  
And then she saw _Her_ constantly. When her husband came home of an evening and set himself to his tasks as if trying to distract himself. When, thinking she wasn't looking, he stared into the fire with an exquisite expression of pain. When he came to her powerful and wanting on thier marriage night and half out of instinct, half out of spite she had slapped him. And when he woke sweating in the night, tears wet on his cheeks and Claire's name silently on his lips.  
  
He always was quick to rearrange his face into expressionlessness, but it wasnt enough. Too often she saw the _witch_ in his eyes and had to fight down the bitter bile that rose in her throat.  
  
_______________  
  
  
It was an autumn night. The evening fog had still not dissapated and Jamie had taken extra care to secure the ponies. He always tried his best to be kind to her and the bairns, and he was honourable to a fault. But deep in the night when sleep stole his guard from him, she knew his secrets. He was asleep beside her now as she breathed, his bonny profile sharp as knives and hair soft against the eerie illumination of a misty moon. He lay on his back and he was dreaming, again.  
  
Laoghaire bit her lip hard enough to hurt, and looked at all the little details of him that had made her grow heavy and wet as a lass. She still recalled the slippery newness throbbing between her legs at the sight of him, muscled thighs gripping a horse and tousled hair a russet flame against the brilliant sun. Still felt those feelings now as her eyes moved over his fine straight nose, with its slight bump of a break, his sweet bonny mouth as it parted, his weathered cheekbones with their dark smudge of stubble, his red brows as they knitted together in sleep, focusing on the dream of his siren.  
  
Jamie sighed and arched slightly, his whole body an eloquent embodiment of longing. Laoghaire knew that beneath the covers he would have a cockstand. _Damn that temtress, that witch, that woman_. She felt the rage churning with the frustration inside her. _How long would Claire hold him in her spell? Did she not see how much he suffered?_  
  
A surge of anger rocked her and teeth gritted, fingers trembling, heart beating with fury or excitement, she reached out and slid her hand over to her husband's hips. Slipping it under the covers and brushing briefly against his skin, she grasped him. She was right, he was warm and rigid under her hand and let out a soft sigh at her touch.  
  
Laoghaire knew that it was not her hand on him in his dream, but in the jealous fury of the moment she didnt care. She would have her husband, she would claim him. With the clumsiness of inexperience (only one of her previous husbands had ever demanded this of her, even then infrequently), she slid her loose fist up his length, then down again to rest on the secret softness of his scrotum. She wouldnt let him touch her in their marriage bed, but touching him like this brought her a strange sense of power.  
  
Jamie let out a soft sound at the movement of her hand, and fuelled by anger or love (she knew not which) she closed her fist tighter around him. The movement caused his head to tip back and a wickedly unguarded "ahh!" to tear from his lips. Laoghaire froze as, heart pounding, she studied his face for any signs of waking. There were none. His eyelashes were dark smudges against his skin and his breath came deep. She watched his powerful chest rise and fall with gasps, tiny hairs glowing against the faint flickering light of the dying fire as she kept her hand on him.  
  
All at once it was over. Her husband tensed with a sob, closed eyes screwed briefly as she felt the vulnerable flesh beneath her palm pulsing. A small warm spread of him flowed gently over her fist and dampened the bedclothes and his dear sigh caressed her ears. Feeling a blasphemous wicked sort of triumph, she let her eyes drift once more to his beloved face.  
  
Just in time to see his sleeping lips form the traiterous shape of _Her_ name.  
  
Laoghaire choked back a sob of rage and shame. It was Claire who lay between them. She could almost feel the invisible shape between her and Jamie, the soft white hand wrapped around her husband's cock in place of her own, the enchantress's lips capturing her husband's lips in the dark.  
  
She made a decision then, to punish him, and make him as miserable as he made her. She withdrew her hand and disgustedly wiped it next to her. She turned over and let the tears ease down her cheeks.  
  


-Fin-

**Author's Note:**

> So, what did you think? :)


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